• From my house, I see a lot of trees. We live on the edge of the city, just before it butts into the country, and the view from the back, over rooftops, is of trees. They climb out from the White Cart river valley, and up over the hill towards Glasgow. Mostly birch, ash and some oak, they signal the seasons. In winter frost sits between them. Sometimes early morning mist rises through them. On dark, quiet summer nights, I can hear owls call from over there. I assume they’re owls. I’ve decided they’re owls.
The trees are coming into leaf now. I have no doubt that this view, and its changes, has had a calming impact on me for the years we’ve lived there – the external talking…
